


Silence Will Only Kill You

by Raefever



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Bullying mentioned, Hector cuddles his granddaughter, Imelda doesn’t know what’s happening, Rosita is the best at cheering you up, bad ass Tía Rosita, bad ass Tía Victoria, dont hurt people kids, emotional understanding, emotionally distressed Julio, good grandparents, hector needs to catch up, julio needs to talk to his kid, poor Spanish skills, sad characters, talking things out, twins are bad cooks, vicky is sick, victoria is sad, victoria mija you need to talk to someone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-04-07 04:28:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14072898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raefever/pseuds/Raefever
Summary: One of the Rivera’s doesn’t feel too good.Luckily the others are there to help.





	1. Chapter 1

If you asked an doctor or scientist they would say it wasn’t possible. They had nothing inside their heads to hurt, no lungs to cough and no stomachs to ache.

Many things don’t make perfect sense in the land of the dead, they still had to eat and sleep even though they would not die if they didn’t. It simply made them more comfortable. Therefore it should not be possible for a skeleton to get sick.

Then why did she feel so rotten?

Ay, even in death they could not escape the common cold.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.  
She awoke that morning with a pounding in her skull and heavy feeling in her chest. Undoubtedly Victoria was ill. Her family will _freak_. Groaning, she rubbed her temples.

She had a decision to make, go down stairs and trudge through the day hopefully unnoticed or call out for her papa or tia to take care of her. ‘Choose the last one!’ Her body and mind called out to her as she sat up, her stubbornness and pride sent out a different message. Victoria huffed. Pulling herself off her bed sighing softly- the air around her was cold, chilly. Dust in the air too. God she needs to clean her bookshelves more often. Bedsheets clinging to her, she felt hot and unwell; just like she had before she… she uh.

She shook the thought from her head, ‘I can’t die now, I’m already dead.’  
Through the door someone was softly calling her name ripping her from her thoughts.

“Victoria, are you coming?” Tio Oscar’s voice beckoned her. _Oh this was going to be such a long day._

The pains in her head jostled around when she tries to stand on her feet, disorientating her for a moment and sending a ringing in her ear. Slowly her vision and senses came back. She managed to pull her clothing on within an acceptable amount of time before declaring herself decent enough to venture downstairs.

Greeted by her family’s smiling faces at the table, she sat down, keeping her head low and eyes partially closed. She was sure the breakfast would have smelled delicious on any other day but today the smell reeked and made the stomach she didn’t have churn. Recoiling back a bit when her food was placed in front of her, her hair brushed against her tia Rosita, allowing her a moment where she could have seen disgust plastered to Victoria’s face.

“Mija, are you alright?” _Oh shoot._

“I’m fine Tia.” Victoria brushed off her inquiry.

After a moment of hesitation, Rosita told her, “If you’re sure Tori.” Using her nickname caught her very off guard. That specific name she hadn’t been called in several decades, almost since she died, her family never shortened her name. It felt like a childish thing to do. Shrugging it away she wouldn’t let it bother her for any longer. She shivered.

Somehow she faked her way through breakfast, picking at her food but never actually taking more than one bite. Out of the corner of her eye she could see her father looking at her suspiciously, his moustache moving as he ate away at his breakfast. He was glancing back and forth between her and his food with a furrowed brow.

In the workshop she continued on, her back to everyone else so they couldn’t see the pained looks on her face. The lights were turned away as they stung her eyes. Her needlework was slow and sloppy, she kept having to go back to fix mistakes, her normally still hands had become shaky, making sewing even more tricky. Hector’s guitar sat in the corner untouched, Oscar and Felipe were just behind her at their workstation, being unusually quiet. Strange. Victoria was thankful for the silence nonetheless, sitting there would be much more difficult if it was her headache against their noise.

Eventually she couldn’t suppress a groan as the pain in her head intensified. Fear overwhelmed her mind as she felt her families gazes land on her like darts, leaving her positively trembling in her chair. Tia Rosita suddenly rescued her from being the centre of attention, declaring she was going to start lunch, the twins hastily leapt from their stools and Hector blazed out of the room. Imelda also made haste toward the kitchen, not stopping on the way past but still giving Victoria a warm pat on the back. This left her alone in the room with her father.

“Papa…” she started, leaning around to him. Julio’s face was stern yet worried. He was concerned. Understandably, last time he saw either one of his daughters ill, it left a great, unfilled hole in his heart.

Something caused Victoria to feel a guilty twinge where her heart had been. She left them behind. When she died they all watched her go.

Julio’s hand wondered onto her back, stroking it lightly. Prompting her, “Mija, go to your bed, you aren’t well.” Victoria however, had little intent to listen.

“Papa I…” She never had the opportunity to finish her sentence, her timid father suddenly turned sharp.

“Victoria go to bed.” Julio’s voice was barely a yell yet it could inflict the same affect as Mama Imelda’s stern screams. He hadn’t perhaps intended to use that tone of voice. Maybe it was too harsh. He wanted to sound concerned, not angry. It was too late too find out, Victoria picked herself up off her stool and in a flash she was gone, upstairs out of sight.

Julio leaned back, fanning himself stressfully, with his straw hat.

“Ay.”

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

In her bedroom Victoria looked around. The room was freezing even with her little wood burner blazing away in the corner, giving off a soft orange glow. The glow reached all edges of the room, dousing it in sunset colours. Books sat on shelves and in stacks, seemingly unorganised, yet Victoria knew each book was exactly in its place- able to point to anyone of them without reading the title and name it correctly every time.

Even Victoria’s intelligent mind could not bother with reading at the moment, all she felt like was putting on bed clothes and burrowing beneath her blankets. Lazily, she done just that. As she settled into her bed, boots could be heard coming up the stairs, the footsteps weren’t too heavy, they were swift and composed. Mama Imelda’s. Was she going to come talk to her? A lecture perhaps? Victoria contemplated pretending to be asleep, but that was ridiculous; she wasn’t four.

Imelda’s bones gripped onto the door handle, hesitating momentarily before pushing gently. Behind the door her ill granddaughter sat up in her bed, rubbing her temples.

Fear plucked at Victoria for an instant then fell away, her abuela looked uneasy.

“Victoria?”

“Abuelita?” The silence hung in the air, both voices echoed off the other. Imelda approached the bed, her hand instantly crawled onto Victoria’s cheek bone. Pulling her skull gently, she kissed the pattern on her forehead. Her markings were much more subtle than most of the family’s, Rosita had large, hot pink markings, Imelda herself had noticeably prominent patterns. Small, pink dots and yellow streaks were all Victoria had. They were certain it was a reflection of their personalities. Stern and shy, Victoria was the most reluctant to speak her mind and feelings. She was stoic and inward. Tremors shook her like a rag doll, the air didn’t feel cold to Imelda but that didn’t mean it wasn’t for Victoria.  
  
Eyeing the drawers Imelda tried to think which contained what… in the end she dug in the second lowest one, the back of the drawer held Victoria’s winter clothes. Thicker, heavier, warmer clothes. Something better than her flimsy nightdress. Imelda picked out a woolly robe, closing the drawer with a wooden clack. Unfolding it and wrapping it around her granddaughter, Imelda began, “Your Papa didn’t mean it, he doesn’t want to upset you.”

Stuttering, Victoria pushed back, “He didn’t… I’m not upset… I… he.”

“He just worries mija.” Imelda reassured while adjusting the robe. Bones clicked against bones, her hands again grabbing very tightly. “We all do,” her eyes turned to the floor, “we love you… next time you should just say. All of us will rush to take care of you.”

Victoria doesn’t say anything, her face doesn’t reveal much either. Imelda cupped her cheekbone, looking sadly into her eyes.

“Go easy on your Papa, he just doesn’t want anything to happen to you. You know what happened last time…” she trailed off, Victoria pulled back. Did she upset her? She doesn’t like talking about her death. Imelda blinked back very sudden tears. Guilt pulled at her heart. She closed her eyes tightly, once she opened them the world seemed different. Victoria looked young. No, she was not a child, she wasn’t a teenager, yet if she was lost in the seas of older and wiser people Imelda could say she was young. When you die you can no longer age physically, and mentally most things don’t change. Yes, you learn new things and maybe you age a little, but the fundamental parts of being young don’t change. And for the first time in awhile it dawned on Imelda how young her granddaughter was when she died. Her mother and sister were still alive, Julio and Rosita had been alive when she died too.

When Victoria arrived it was shocking. She was a complete wreck for weeks. As it turned out she got very sick, very fast, too sick for doctors to save her and too fast to say goodbye. It must hurt. Not being given a chance to say goodbye had to have stung a lot. Imelda let’s a few tears drip down her cheek, she wipes them away quicker than they appeared. Stroking Victoria’s hair she says “Rest mija, espero que te sientas mejor.” Imelda kissed her granddaughter one last time, enclosing her in a bone-shattering hug almost forgetting she needed to let go.

As she finally pulled away she realised Victoria was almost asleep – best to leave her in peace. They can’t help but adore and baby her. She is the baby of the family. No matter what age she is, or what age she was when she died, Victoria can’t escape it.

Stepping downstairs Imelda seemed much quieter; calmer. The others relax when they notice her, unwinding the tension. Rosita looks up from her cooking with a smile towards Julio that none of the others quite catch, Julio unburied his head from his rib cage with a long sigh. He wiped at tears that weren’t really there before moving on to stroke his moustache. Calm. _‘She’s likely asleep,’_ he told himself, _‘I can talk to her later.’_

Rosita preoccupied herself with the cooking, quietly putting on some soup for Victoria. She hadn’t eaten her breakfast, she would be hungry later, and even if she wasn’t she would have to eat eventually. Rosita finished making lunch, with Imelda’s help of course. It wasn’t long before everyone cleaned their plates and went back to constructing shoes. She watched, absentmindedly as Imelda taught Hector how to thread a needle. In her mind she played out the scene with Victoria again.

Victoria was such a difficult sole to understand, it took patience and true interest in her to open up the real Victoria. Her sister-in-law had tried her absolute hardest with Victoria, they could not be more different. Coco wore her emotions on her sleeve while Victoria kept hers in her pocket. Talking and understanding wasn’t in Victoria’s nature which was tricky for Coco to comprehend.

Julio was entirely the opposite. While he doesn’t truly understand however, he tries, in a much more helpful way. He would never attempt to force her into conversation with him. He never pushed her too far out of her comfort zone, if she needed to sit quietly with a book for several hours, he sat with her. He offered her things even when she would never actually accept. Time after time, he never gave in. Julio would never let his daughter think he stopped caring.

Rosita admired her brother for this. Patience was his middle name.   
But the two of them would never be as close as Rosita and Victoria. Rosita was the biggest pillar in Victoria’s life.  
And the bond between them only got stronger in death.

After enough time passed, Rosita got out of her seat, heated soup in her hands. She walked up to Victoria’s door and knocked. At the absence of a reply she pushed on the handle, swinging the wooden door open -quietly- she won’t want to wake her. In the corner of the tiny room, Victoria lay, black hair splayed across the pillow cases and soft, fluttering breaths played out in the silence.

Lovingly glancing down at her niece’s face Rosita sighed, in the end she needed to wake her up but she just looked so peaceful.

“Mija, wake up.” Tia Rosita whispered gently into Victoria’s ear as she slowly tried to rock her awake. Victoria stirred, a little confused but otherwise okay.

“Tia?” Rosita nodded, sitting down on the edge of the bed, tucking the covers back to keep her sobrinita warm. “Yes niña.” She said.

Rosita watched as Victoria screwed her face up and swallowed back a sob. “Tia Rosita, I feel awful.” She whined. Whining was a very un-Victoria-like thing to do. It meant she must be feeling extra bad. When Rosita brushed at her hair with her hand, Victoria’s skull felt hot and her eyes looked hazy.

“I know honey, I know mija.” Rosita hushed, pulling Victoria into a (much gentler than normal) bear hug and peaked her cheeks with a kiss. “Do you want anything? Are you too hot? Too cold? Do you feel better than earlier or worse?” She bombarded her with questions, almost too many for her to handle in that moment. It was startling to see her niñita so sick again, sickness was what pulled them apart in the first place and Rosita was determined not to let it ever happen again, even if she knew that it was impossible.

As a child Victoria had been an incredible sickly thing. She was almost never out of her bed it seemed. Most of Rosita’s memories of Victoria as a child were of reading books with her in bed and feeding her soup. Oh it was sad to watch her grow up like that, as a stick-thin, weedy, little girl, Rosita had always been under the assumption that she was skinny because she was ill and never because of genetics. But since she met Hector that had thankfully been proven wrong.

She watched as Victoria studied her, carefully taking in the expression on her face. “I’m too cold.” Victoria stated sharply and quietly.

Looking around, there already was every layer of blanket and clothing on top of her, not to mention the small wood burner blazing heat in the corner. Rosita wasn’t really sure what more she could do for her.

Then, almost bashfully, Victoria asked, “Rosita, will you fill up the bathtub for me?” And Rosita nearly giggled. It was such a small, trivial thing, yet it meant the world to them. As a little girl, Rosita would put Victoria in the bath anytime she didn’t feel well, and afterwards they would watch her favourite telenovela, or read a book together or sometimes Victoria would let Rosita play with her hair and put it in pretty braids.

Those were the best times.

“Of course mija,” Rosita kissed her cheek gently, “I’ll be right back.” She tucked the covers tighter again, fussing over her one last time before walking out of the room and into the bathroom.

The water splished and splashed as it poured out of the tap, it was steaming hot, just like Victoria always liked it. Humming softly as she moved, she poured in some bubble bath, before strutting out of the room to fetch her sobrinita. Victoria shuffled out of her room with Rosita next to her, slipping away from the world and into the bathroom. Tia Rosita hung outside the door, standing guard just in case.

She let her memories play through her head, enjoying the best ones with a smile on her face and gave a downcast frown at the bad few. Letting her head sink completely underwater felt good, hot water burned away the uncomfortable feelings. The world washed away in the silence.


	2. Rosita’s flashback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosita thinks about Victoria as a child, a long time ago.

Victoria was the strongest little girl Rosita has ever met. She was not well liked by the other kids. That much they knew. She didn’t actually tell them any of this. It was mostly guess work and occasionally Elena told them somebody had been saying awful things about her sister. Victoria never seemed to mind. She stood there and took it, took what would have most sobbing or screaming, wishing for death. She was stoic, hard as rock. No. Hard as diamond. Rosita’s little diamanté. Some days reminded her just how brave that little girl was. One that particularly sticks out is the day Victoria walked through the door with shattered glass in her hand and a bleeding cut on her cheek. She didn’t even blink. There were no tears in her eyes. Her expression was blank and all she had as an excuse, she ran and tripped, smashing her glasses. Now they all knew that was not the truth. Elena confirmed it. Yet they never pressed the issue. 

But even a diamond can break if you hit it hard enough. 

Two days. Rosita had two days in her life that competed for the worst day of her life. One, when Victoria died. Two, when Victoria broke. 

It’s hard to watch a person snap. Even harder when you’re that persons closest friend. The best of people can have the worst days. One day, decades and decades ago Rosita was home alone. This in itself was strange, but it was made worse when the girls came home, Elena hollered upstairs to her, “TIA!” Her voice boomed off the walls, at only eight her voice could shake the walls. Panic constricted her. Rushing down to the door, Elena was holding Victoria in an almost comical fashion, her stunted height supporting a much taller frame from behind. There wasn’t even three years between the two girls, yet Victoria had almost a foot of height on Elena. Victoria’s hands were firmly planted over her eyes, scrapes and bruises glittered her arms. Most heartbreaking of all, a single tear sliding down her chin. 

Victoria doesn’t know how to ask for help. 

Victoria doesn’t know why people hurt her. 

Victoria doesn’t know what her feelings mean.

Victoria doesn’t know who to ask.

Victoria doesn’t know where to turn.

Victoria doesn’t know when it will end.

Elena is scared. Elena’s sister is breaking. And she can’t understand. She can’t help.

Rosita can help. She has to start by taking away the pain. She starts by moving her niece’s hands off her eyes, peeling fingers off of skin all she finds is closed eyelids. “Victoria, you need to open your eyes.” And a subtle shake determines that won’t happen. “Does the light hurt?” It nods. Migraine then. “Migraine?” Another nod. Victoria’s migraines were always debilitating. Rosita picked her up, moving her quickly to her bedroom. As cruel as it felt Rosita laid Victoria on the floor, she needs to keep her awake just a little longer, as soon as her head hits the pillow she won’t wake. 

“Tia?” Elena’s voice rang in the background pulling Rosita back down to earth.  
“Mija come help me.” Yes she knew this was an awful scene for a child to witness, no Elena shouldn’t have to help, but if she doesn’t help Rosita feared she would loose her sanity. “Find me pyjamas, she can’t sleep in school clothes.” Elena is quick, placing anything Rosita needs by her side. 

Gently they pull away the dress. A part of Rosita wished they left it on. Underneath, on Victoria’s bare skin hundreds of tiny nicks, dozens of not so tiny cuts and several deep purple bruises plague. One bruise resembled the shape of a boot.  
Her eyes well with tears. Who?

Who would hurt another person like this? Who would hurt a child? A child. Anger and sadness and frustration and many, many more emotions boil inside her. Rosita cries. Elena keeps it together. Reminding her once again she needs to keep her head down. In bed Victoria relaxes, if only a little. She’s asleep instantly. The sisters are so close that Elena clambered in next to her. Elena is incredibly gentle. Her head is touching her sisters chest and her arms wrapped around to play with her hair. 

“Do you know what happened?” Rosita sat herself in the edge of the bed, tucking the cover tighter around the girls. Elena replied “I didn’t see who beat her up, when we were walking home she came up behind me and asked me to help her get home. I said sí but she kept on fainting so it took a while to come home.” Elena was a good sister, so was Victoria. They look after each other.

After leaving them to their sleep, Rosita only had to wait for the others to return home, Imelda would be the death of whoever did this, there’s no way to escape her rage. Every few hours Rosita checked in on the girls, Elena remained asleep until the next morning. With the others still out of town Rosita didn’t make her go to school, they both stayed inside watching over Victoria who took more than a day to wake up again. When she did wake, it was in the late evening. The family would be home in a few hours and the house was soon to be filled with yelling and convincing someone that they couldn’t attack someone else’s child. 

The handle on the front door turned and opened with a click. The family was home. Rosita feared what she would have to tell them, what was she supposed to say? How were they going to restrain Imelda from doing anything too drastic? 

“Hola!” Coco called out into the house. Elena came bounding down the stairs, elated to great her family. She dove into her mother’s arms, she hung there for a moment, giving her a tight squeeze before moving on to her Papa, then the twins and Imelda. Victoria moved with much less enthusiasm, she didn’t rush to anyone, but still with a stiff smile on her face. She all but fell into her father, allowing him to pick her up with her face buried in the crook of his neck. Even though Victoria was only ten at the time her height almost matched her fathers, in his arms her feet were only inches above the ground. He began spinning her around in his arms. Victoria reacted, kicking her legs out and pushing him away from her as the broken skin aches and pained. “Mija, mija what’s wrong?” Julio asked quickly, fearing he had done something wrong. Victoria stepped backwards, backing herself into a wall. She looked up at her Tia, her eyes begging her for help, then she looked at all of her family. They looked back at her with concerned faces.

Rosita stepped forward, putting her hand on Victoria’s shoulder she spoke, “Mija, show your Papa what happened.” Victoria hesitates. Her hands are firmly planted on the bottom of her shirt, gripping it with a fierce hold. Julio suddenly realised were his daughters problems lay and carefully caught her hand in his own, unfurling her little fingers. Victoria winces as he tucks her shirt up, revealing her bruises and battered torso even though he’s as gentle he could possibly be. Julio tears up immediately, Coco gasps. 

“Mija,” Julio puts his finger tips on the biggest of the bruises, running it slowly down, “I’d be surprised if you haven’t got broken ribs.” Victoria is mostly unreactive still, only watching her Papa’s hand tenderly move around her stomach. Her Mama came to her side, stooping down to kiss her and fuss over her, tears streaming down her face too. Her hand brushed past Victoria’s forehead before whisking back and settling down.

“Oh Victoria, mija, your burning up, warm as a furnace you are.” Coco cooed in Victoria’s ear, suddenly aware the others had unfrozen themselves and the twins were now holding Imelda in place. Coco picks her daughter up, so careful to not hurt her, whisking her away to lay down.

The rest of that night is a blurry mess in Rosita’s mind, only a few moments still are clear in her memory, she could vividly remember Imelda saying some hurtful things about the person who bullied Victoria. (She knows they really deserve it.)

All that she remembers after that is feeling incredibly angry. Angry at the person who hurt Victoria. Angry at herself for not being there to help.

Rosita suddenly awoke from her day dream. A small figure startled her as he emerged from the staircase, his hat in his hands and shoulders tensed up. Julio stopped in front of her, glancing between her and the floor.  
“Is she doing okay, Rosita?” His bones tensed more, his skull sinking into his ribcage.  
Rosita calms him, “I’m sure she’ll be okay hermano, you mustn’t work yourself up too much.”  
“It’s hard. I can hardly bare it. Every time I stop to think, I see... I see...” he trails off, unable to finish his sentence.  
Rosita stifles her own cry that’s pushing at the back of her throat, “You see her again. You see the moment she died.”  
Julio wipes tears away, “I do.. yes.” And he can hardly contain his cries.


	3. Julio Talks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julio finally talks to his kid.

A while later Victoria re-emerged from the bathroom, her hair dripping and soggy and a much more content smile on her face. Rosita grinned at her, pleased that she had brightened up a bit. She chose to lie back down after having her bath, happy to feel warm again. She was obviously exhausted, her eyelids batted together defiantly, and her arms hung loosely by her sides. Dropping onto her bed, she allowed Rosita to pull the covers over her and close the window blinds.  
“Are you alright now mija?” Rosita hummed, giving a loving squeeze of her shoulder.  
Victoria’s stoic mask, having long since broken, completely fell away into a big grin, “I feel much better,” she reached up to hug her, “gracias Rosita.”

Rosita backed out of the door, pulling it tightly as she left. She nearly tripped over her brother, standing a few feet from the door, startling her like prey would startle its dinner.  
“This is ridiculous,” Rosita ranted, “go and talk to your daughter Julio.”  
Julio tapped his fingers against his palms, looking unsure. He so desperately longs to speak to her, yet was so afraid of... of... he doesn’t even know why he’s scared!   
He pleaded as Rosita pushed him towards her bedroom, “I can’t, I don’t know how to talk to her!” She stared down at him, confusion written on her face.

He confessed, his mouth opening like a dam, “You both get along so brilliantly, I always wished I could understand her like you do. I just don’t get it, how you seemingly have a whole conversation with her just by looking at each other, how do you know exactly how she feels without even asking?” And he prayed that Victoria can’t hear them through the wood door,   
“You’ve kept up with the thousands of books she’s read, you are the only person who Victoria enjoys talking to.”   
Rosita gawked, unable to speak.   
“I only want help, I only want to understand her.” 

She bent down to his height, poking him softly, square in the breastbone.  
“She’s your daughter, Julio. You don’t need to know everything, you don’t even need her to talk to you, all that you need is to talk to her. She might understand, even when she doesn’t say a word.” He felt himself get shoved through the door. As suddenly as lighting he wished he had never said anything and kept his thoughts to himself.

Victoria was focusing out of her window as Pepita flew by, chasing after another alebrije. Her mouth twisted when she saw him and with little emotion she said, “Papà.”   
He replied with a nervous twinge, “Hola Victoria.”   
Julio approached cautiously, perching himself on the edge of the bed. She tried to sit up but he is quick to push her back down by the shoulders, with enough force to keep her down. She looked at him wide-eyed and surprised. He realised, pulling his hands away from her.

He twisted his hands nervously as he squeaked,   
“How are you feeling mija?” And suddenly he noticed his cheekbones are wet, soaked with tears. Victoria was scaring him. She was shaky and shivering, her bones are too hot, she definitely had a fever and she feels too cold, she refused to eat anything... and... and...

“Papà, are you crying?” Victoria tried to sit up again, this time failing out of her own weakness, Julio hiccuped and scooted closer. Her arms reached out to him, to pull him into a tight hug.  
This was the first time he can remember crying since she died.

He watched her plummet from her seat with a pained screech, his Coco’s hand the only thing separating her head and the hard floor. Victoria, convulsing and sweating in her mother’s arms, had a complete and utter look of terror on her face. He remembers the horror in her eyes. 

Oscar, now an old man, scooped her up off the floor, bundling her into the back of the car as they drove off to the hospital. They waited and waited for hours though it felt more like a millennium, the ward was overcrowded, and children were wailing. Every doctor in the whole hospital was busy, too busy to bother with them. And his precious, sweet, loving daughter was curled in on herself begging to die, still screeching out in pain with her mother’s arms wrapped tightly around her.

Victoria turned to him, tears streaming down her sharp face,  
“Papá... am I going to die?” And he just wished she never would have asked. Julio was an honest man. Victoria took no nonsense, accepted no lies, only strived for the truth. Even if she hated the truth, she would much rather a painful truth than be let down with a lie. He reasoned with himself, his last words to his daughter should not be a lie.  
“Yes Victoria, you are.”

The family gasped at him. He pulled back from kissing her cheek, looking back at the rest, as if to say “what?” He and Rosita had been raised to be honest and he saw no point in lying. He was beginning to doubt if there even was a doctor in this hospital, they hadn’t seen one since they got there. 

He looked around himself. The family went silent again, staring dead at Victoria who appeared to have gone limp. Franco had his fingers pressed on her neck, Julio placed his on her wrist, Coco’s ear over her heart. It was when Coco let out a deafening scream that silenced the entire room, that reality hit him in the face with a shoe. There was no beat. Julio held a wailing Coco in his arms as she keened over their daughter.

Perhaps the second worst part of loosing his daughter was the other people. He disliked the way the neighbours looked at him with pity in their eyes. He didn’t like it when parents tug their children closer when they see him, like holding them near will fight off the dangers of the world. Hardly able to bare it when Franco and Elena hold their children just a little closer. They all act like it won’t happen to them. Just like he did. It could have happened to anyone.

No one told him grieve felt so like fear.

No one told him that losing his child would leave such an unimaginable, lonely, painful hole where his heart once was.

He genuinely sobbed every day. 

For years afterward. When his sister died, only a few months after his daughter, he sobbed twice as hard. The twins a few years down the line, he sobbed for them too. His wife’s mind and sanity began slipping, they spent more and more time indoors, away from other people. Then it was him. He died in the late seventies, his family mostly died in less than a decade, his poor wife lost her family in less than a decade and was sentenced to thirty years to live out on her own. 

He watched on as one of his daughters raised her children and became a grandparent. He watched one of his daughters become reclusive, as her friends grew old without her. Recently some of them had joined them in the afterlife, they tried so hard to reconnect but in their presence Victoria felt like a child. They had all forgotten her. Forgotten that she was young and wouldn’t understand when all they wanted to talk about was how their grandchildren were doing, or that she wants to stay up late to talk to them into the early hours of the morning. 

All the crying he had done had blended together long ago.

“Yes I’m crying, of course I’m crying.” 

“But why are you crying?” His heart could have bounced out of his ribcage if he had one.

“You’re ill sweetheart,” her back shuddered in his arms.

“So?” Her voice cracked with sadness.

His moustache twists as he frowns. 

“You died so young mija.” And her quality of life while she was alive had been so poor he wonder how she coped. She couldn’t catch a ball if you handed it to her, but if anyone had a cold within the surrounding ten miles, then you could guarantee she’d come down with it. 

“Your life was so short, you shouldn’t have to suffer another minute of your afterlife.” There he felt her head bob up and down on his shoulder.

“You could have done nothing about that, it was my own fault, I was far too weak.” Victoria’s voice is wavering and horse from being sick, Julio pats her back to coax a cough out of her. He grabbed her chin and said firmly,   
“You are never allowed to blame yourself for that! You can blame me or anyone, but you are not at fault. We should have taken better care of you and watched you a little closer.” 

“But papà! You don’t understand, I tried to hide that I was sick, I wasn’t su-,” he cut her off before she could finish.  
“I know you were hiding it, for whatever reason, but that’s not an excuse for not noticing.” Julio pulled back from the hug, just enough that they can look at each other easily, “And you,” He poked her in the chest, “will never be weak, you fought it off for as long as you could, I don’t think you’re weak mija.”

Her instinct was to fight back, tell him that she was weak, she was feeble, it was her fault. All of her drive to argue with him had left, and the need to be a child in her fathers’ arms again replaced it.   
It was quiet, peaceful for the first time in months; Hector wasn’t singing, Imelda wasn’t screaming and the twins weren’t inventing. Exhaustion hit her like a runaway train, knocking her down into her papà’s arms. Grabbing her shoulders, he nudged her back down so that she had to look up at him and slathered her face and hair in boney kisses, that made a clinking sound when they touched. 

Victoria giggled.  
He made her laugh. A genuine, happy, joyful laugh. There were storm clouds pushing in his eye sockets, tears that are nothing but pure joy ran down his face, he hadn’t heard a laugh like that in a long time.

“Get better, mija,” he kissed her one finial time, “that’s all I could ever ask for.”


	4. Imelda Panics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Imelda stays up late to take care of her little girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 41 degrees Celsius = 105.8 degrees Fahrenheit

Imelda wasn’t normally bothered by sound while she was asleep. In fact in recent years it was rare she would wake up at all during the night, but whatever this sound happened to be, it was strange enough and concerning enough that it woke Imelda up with a startled jolt.

‘Pain! That sounded like pain. Who is in pain? Coco!’

No. They aren’t in the same house. Coco is still alive, Coco isn’t there. If not Coco, then who else, someone must be hurting, but who? Imelda rolled over onto her side so Hector was in view. He was fine, sleeping happily on his back, curled into his spot on the bed. Maternal instinct lead her out of her room to check the other people in her care. As she entered the hallway a glow from the bathroom directed her inside, Victoria stood hunched over and hurting, one hand having a tight grasp on her skull and the other settled in her stomach cavity.

“Oh, mija.” She hushed, grasping Victoria firmly by her shoulders as she guided her to sit.

Imelda knew the look in her granddaughters eyes. It was pained, it was fearful, and maybe, just maybe, held a touch of disappointment. All she had to do was give Imelda that look and in an instant Victoria was swept into a tight, loving embrace. Victoria reciprocated the touch, sinking her height down so her head rested on Imelda’s shoulder, where she was set free from all her worries and fears.

Imelda knew true pain when she saw it. She would try her darnedest to cure it.

“I’ll make tea.”

Imelda silently wished Victoria was still small. It would be so much less heartbreaking to pick her up in her arms instead of letting her stumble and lean on walls the whole way down the stairs. She lead Victoria to the sitting room, instructing her to lay down on the couch with the afghan wrapped around her.

An almost deja vu experience. While Imelda boiled the water, she realised how many times a situation similar to this had occurred. When it had been just them. Just Imelda and Victoria, this was how they had spent most gloomy nights actually. Back then every night was a gloomy night, a fierce depression ravaged her sweet Victoria’s mind. A depression Imelda knew little about, but was willing to ride out alongside her niñita, for Victoria did not ever deserve to be or feel alone. Immediately following her death Victoria completely shut off, unable to talk, sleep, do anything really. A painful sight. But Imelda was determined, she shut the shop for three weeks, (the longest time it has ever been shut for), and kept Victoria busy.

No one had been expected to pass away soon, therefore they had empty bedrooms with no beds, no storage and no decorations. Victoria had nothing at the start. Imelda wasted no time spoiling her, with endless amounts of beautiful clothes and books and fun trinkets. The first week had been a rough one, a flurry of new and terrifying experience. In the land of the dead it was mostly painless to fall down the stairs, albeit more time consuming. Especially if you don’t know what order your ribs go in.

Imelda smiled inwardly, they had so much to learn as the newly dead, the aforementioned order of the ribs, what bones go where, how to correctly straighten ones skull, how not to get your skirts caught in your knee joints etc.

It was new and frightening and exhilarating!

Collecting Victoria was a frightening moment for sure. Imelda, alone and curious, rushed to the Department of Family Reunions, a metaphorical pounding in her chest. Staff guided her to a room, a private one. Private rooms were reserved for sensitive deaths.

The kettle whistles. Tea’s ready.  
.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

“Drink up, niña.”

Victoria let her abuelita lift her back up as she sat down, gently setting her spine against the older woman’s ribcage. Mama Imelda’s tea. A cure all in the Rivera home, and Victoria’s personal favourite. It was hot and soothing, calming and relaxing. Little comforted a woman like Victoria, but tea was the exception. Mama Imelda had her guzzling it down every time she felt even slightly ill in the living world.

Victoria sipped her tea emotionlessly, waiting for the pains to subside.

“Is it helping mija?” Imelda asked, running her finger bones through Victoria’s hair lovingly.

The young girl sighed, sinking heavily into her abuelita. It worked, just like it always worked, her phantom stomach stilled and her thundering headache lowered to a small pressure behind her eyes. She un-tensed, forgetting the pain was ever there. Opening her big, golden-brown eyes, Imelda noticed they were hazy and glazed from fever. A fever could do no damage to bones, it would be safest to let it burn out on its own.

_‘But what if it isn’t?’_

Imelda clutched Victoria a little tighter, ignoring the terrible though.

_‘No one knows if we can die again, it hasn’t happened before but it might.’_

No, it can’t happen. It won’t ever happen.

_‘It’s happening. Don’t let go or you might just loose her.’_

I won’t loose her.

_‘She looks so sick, don’t you think? Almost as if-,’_

No! That won’t happen... or will it?

Imelda felt her granddaughter’s face and neck, it was scarily warm. Without warning she scurried into the kitchen cabinets, reaching in the very back for just the item she needed.

“Mija, open up.”

“What? Abuelita I don’t nee-,”

“I said open up!” Victoria opened her jaw without another word as Imelda shot a medicine syringe filled up with fever medicine down her throat, bringing back uncomfortable memories of her childhood. The bitter taste reminded her of an awful experience with a particularly bad tasting medication she had as a small child.

Imelda congratulated her, “Good girl, mija.” Not another moment went by before she pushed a glass thermometer underneath her tongue.

“Abuelita,” she mumbled out, “is this necessary?”

“Ah ah ah, mouth closed, you know how this works.” They waited a few minutes, Imelda with nervous impatience and Victoria with strong exhaustion.

“Ay, 41 degrees, no, no, no.” She pushed her fingers into her eye sockets to keep the tears at bay, that was too high of a number. Not a good number. Dead or Alive.

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

“Then stop looking.”

Imelda sank backwards, crossing her arms and giving her infamous ‘mama glare’. Being sick was no reason to snap.

“Lo siento, that was rude.” She recognised her wrongdoing, apologising as soon as she realised, but tears still formed in the corners of her eyes. Victoria didn’t really mean to be rude, she was sleepy and drained, maybe the fever was getting to her after all.

Imelda panicked, “Mija, mija don’t cry my darling, you’re ill, I understand.” Her breathing hitched as she cried too, letting tears flow freely from her eyes, the stress of the situation finally pulling her down as well. They clasped each other tightly, encouraging the other to quit their tears. Imelda rocked Victoria in her arms. The skeleton version of Victoria was eerily similar to the flesh one, both so skinny and slender. Her heart thunders in her ribcage.

_‘I don’t want to leave her alone... what should I do? Hector won’t mind a guest in our bed, will he?’_

“Come on niña, sick girls need sleep.” Imelda nudged Victoria to her feet, steadying her as she swayed. The ‘sick girl’ allowed herself to be half carried back upstairs, reaching for her door handle.

“Ah ah, I’m not letting you out of my sight.” She scolded, pulling her away from the door and towards the room shared with Hector.

Hector was already barely awake when Imelda forced him to move over. He shot forward, confused as to why he was being moved around. He relaxed when he noticed his wife had returned, he perked up when he noticed his granddaughter.

He asked with curiosity, “Imelda, wh-what’s going on?”

“Our poor granddaughter is sick, I am not leaving her alone, that is what.” He felt himself getting shoved further towards the edge of his side of the bed.

“Now move over.”

Hector did as instructed, opening his arms wide for his granddaughter, letting her burry her head into him as she laid down. She smelt faintly of medicine and tears. It’s minuscule differences in how she is behaving that really bug him, Victoria would never get into her Abuelita and Abuelito’s bed and snuggle into him, nor would she allow herself to cry. But he saw no reason for Imelda to have gotten this upset and protective.

He waited, impatience growing. He waited for Victoria to sleep soundly before comforting Imelda.

He needed to talk to Imelda.


	5. Hector Calms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hector calms his wife down.

Hector observed. He was a loud man, but an observant one. He had observed his family over many years, as they slowly began to join him in the land of the dead. He tried to connect who they were, but it was only when he met them in person that he could understand fully. Oscar and Felipe he recognised immediately, they still were identical troublemakers. It took him a few weeks to figure out Rosita and Julio. Rosita... he remembered that name, it was the name of a girl Coco played with a few times when she was little.  
Imelda, he could never forget Imelda. The love of his life. Well second. Coco always be his number. 

Then there was Victoria. Hector never could figure out who she was, not until he met her. When he did meet her she was mysterious, untrusting, strong and stoic, his brave girl. But if she was so stoic, then why is he holding her whilst she’s sick and shivering? 

Hector waited, he waited until Victoria was completely asleep.

“Imelda?”

“Hmm?” She hummed over her granddaughters shoulder, batting her eyelids together in a final attempt to stay awake.  
Hector leaned Victoria’s head on to his ribcage, holding her still as stone while he propped himself up on a pillow. 

“Why is Victoria in our bed mi amor?” In truth he actually quite liked having his bebita sleeping right between him and his wife, he knew she was safe that way, yet it would be a extremely un-Victoria-like thing to do. He couldn’t picture her asking Imelda if she could cuddle up to them, just because she was sick. Of course they would let her in, they would let her in even if she wasn’t sick at all, and another thing, he couldn’t imagine Victoria crying. Not that he wanted to imagine it, but there was the water streaks on her bones proved it. 

“She isn’t feeling very well, it’s safer if she sleeps in between us,” Imelda stated, her voice wavering in the middle. 

“Mi amor, I understand that she’s ill, but nothing can harm us.” Imelda looked at him, eyes frozen on his, they looked over Victoria at each other.

“Hector, there’s a lot you don’t know about this.” She whispered, wrapping Victoria further beneath the blankets. Hector hummed as he gently pulled away her glasses.  
“If there’s something I don’t know, tell me. I want to learn about the parts I wasn’t there for.” 

“Hector, this one isn’t such a nice story, and if I’m honest, I don’t know if Victoria would appreciate me telling you.” Imelda stroked Victoria’s back from under the blankets, her face telling Hector just how upsetting this was. 

“ ‘Melda,” he tried to grab her attention, but her attention could not be divided. 

“Victoria isn’t much older than you... she was so sick. I’m not taking any chances, she’s staying right here.”

Hector sighed, “I’m not bothered by her in the bed, I like being able to hold her. But isn’t everyone over reacting slightly, it’s probably nothing serious.” 

Imelda scrutinised him, her blood boiling with anger. She bit on her finger, reminding herself that he had no idea what had happened in the past. Hector shifted Victoria in his arms, letting her rest more towards his wife.  
“Hector... there’s no way to know if it’s serious or not, I know it’s not common to even get sick once we’re dead, but Victoria always scares me. She was feeble, she got ill so easily... it’s why she’s here.”

Hector stammers, “She died of illness?”

Pepita landed in front of the window, darkening the room further, plunging them into nighttime hues. Imelda breathed a sigh, “Meningitis, she was ill one night and gone the next. Died in hospital waiting room in Julio and Coco’s arms.”

Hector’s breath hitched.  
“She died in one day? That fast?” He lurched closer to Imelda, rocking Victoria in the process. He winced but she didn’t wake.

“I’ll spare you the gory details, but yes, she was gone too fast.” 

Hector’s breath seemed lost in his chest. He held Victoria closer to himself, tugging her into his lap, stroking her lengthy hair away from her eyes. 

Gently, he whispered into her ear, “Mi nieta preciosa, life has not been kind to you, has it?” She made a low groaning sound before she rolled further into him, her arms grasping him tightly. Imelda began to help him. He brushed her away, he didn’t mind the embrace. His granddaughter had always been more hesitant around him than the others, she wasn’t as open with him, it felt strangely nice to hold her in his arms.

“She really likes you.”  
Hector blinked, “Qué?” 

Imelda giggled to herself as she propped up against a pillow, “Victoria is never that affectionate, yet you’ve known her a few months and she won’t let go of you.” Hector smiled as she told him this, overjoyed with the idea that his granddaughter loved him. He wanted this moment to last as long as it could. His neita in his arms forever. He only wished she felt better. That this awful illness would pass her by, like clouds on a rainy day. Hector kissed her comfortingly, hoping to sooth her discomfort. The terrible moaning sounds she made immediately after were anything but soothing. 

Her neck and face felt suddenly boiling, like water in a kettle, eyes shooting open with confusion and agony written in them. Hector panicked, Imelda flung herself closer in order to take a look. Victoria appeared to be conscious but mostly consumed by pain. In her lowest, quietest voice she said, “Me duele la cabeza.” 

“Tu cabeza?” 

Imelda grasped her arm, dragging her hand up and down Victoria.  
“Oh mija, you’re burning.” She began to fuss and worry over her, only panicking her granddaughter more. Victoria started crying.

Helping her to sit up against her abuelito, they propped pillows and blankets up around her, then calmed and soothed her tears. Crying eyes were the bane of both Hector and Imelda’s lives. Neither of them could stand to see anyone crying, let alone one of their girls. The two of them had often given into Coco’s crocodile tears as a child, a trick she would use far too much to get what she wanted. But when tears meant one of them was in pain, it was an entirely different story, it wasn’t ‘Ok! Fine you can have what you want!’. It was more ‘Stop crying, it’s okay, I can make it better.’  
That’s all they want to do. Make it better.

“Hector, stay here.” He stood still as stone whilst Imelda scuttled downstairs, opening and slamming the cabinets, grabbing this and that. After racing back to the bedroom, Imelda was holding a blister pack of aspirin, a coke bottle and tea, the best things for feeling better. Forcing her to make a decision, Imelda asked Victoria which drink she would prefer to take the aspirin with. The poorly niña probably didn’t care what she drank, as long as it made the horrible pain leave her, though it was nice her abuelita was thoughtful enough to give her the choice. 

Victoria nodded towards the tea, first swallowing the aspirin. She relaxed yet again. Abuelito’s friendly, loving arms wrapped her up in a hug, letting her head rest on his chest, a tiny smile finally appearing on her face. 

Two of them watched and waited for the youngest to fall back to a deep sleep, silently wishing her to feel better. Once Victoria was completely gone, drifting into the sweetness of her dreams Imelda jumped to her feet, sprinting off to the hallway. Curiously, her husband forced himself out from underneath Victoria, walking out to where Imelda sat. She was sobbing. Crying out in thick tears, and blubbers. Hector pulled her near to him, holding and caressing her hair with his bones fingers. 

He asked her, “Mi amor, what’s wrong?”

And she replied, “I can’t do this Hector! It’s too much!”

“Oh ‘Melda, please, everything will be fine.” He tried so hard to comfort her, yet she only wept more.

“I’m terrified Hector. I need her. She is my bebita, I will not live without her.” 

“Don’t fret, mi amor, nothing can take her now.” They kissed. Slow and passionately, only releasing to let the other breath. 

“She will be well in a day or two, panicking won’t help her.” He cooed once more, helping her to breath more slowly. Leading Imelda back to the bed, they laid either side of Victoria, tangling themselves in her stringy limbs. They cuddle and hugged and squeezed until every part of them begged for sleep. They slept. Peacefully. They knew she would be fine.


	6. Pepita Protects

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pepita decides she needs to be indoors.

  
_“Mi amor, please, you must eat something.”_

_“Why should I eat when my bebita is in the ground?”_

_“She would never want this, she would want you to be strong without her.”_

_“I miss her.”_

_“So do I Julio, I want her back with us, I miss her with every fibre of my being. I want her to loop her arms around my neck and hug me, I want to wake up and see her reading on the windowsill. I want to drink coffee and eat breakfast with her. I want her back too. But she isn’t here. She will never be here again._

_“Do you think she’s happy?”_

_“I imagine she is both happy and sad, sad because she no longer has us with her, but happy she is with her abeula again and happy she isn’t in pain anymore.”_

_“Why did it have to be her mi amor?”_

_“Death doesn’t discriminate, it takes. Sometimes -more often than not- it takes the good people and leaves behind the bad.”_

_“What would she say to us right now?”_

_“Probably, ‘Papà stop crying’ .”_

_“Yeah, you’re right.”_

_“So will you?”_

_“Stop crying?”_

_“Sí.”_

  
_“I will try.”_

_“She loves you, she’s safe, don’t worry. You can take your time before you run into her again.”_

_“I’ll do my best, you take your time too, don’t go leaving me behind as well.”_

_“I will, mi amor, don’t worry.”  
_

  
.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

  
The morning invited sunlight to peak through the curtains, the air was sweet and warm, everything seemed quiet. There was a breeze-wait! Why is there a breeze indoors?

“Imelda, did you lock the balcony door?”

“Umm... I think so... why do you ask?” That’s when she saw the reason why he asked. It seemed that in the middle of the night a great, green beast had pawed at the door handle, opening it wide so that she could wiggle her way into the house. Pepita’s enormous head stared straight at Hector, eyes filled with an evil glow. In one swift move, her tail came up to wrap around him, sharply yanking him off of the bed, leaving him in a sulking heap on the floor.

“Uh-Imelda control your stupid alebrije!” Hector demanded angrily.

Imelda laughed, “Good girl, Pepita.”

Pepita gave a gentle purr as if to gloat at him. She rested her head on the spot in which he once laid, beginning to lick at Victoria’s face- who somehow hadn’t been awoken by all the ruckus. Little by little, Victoria slowly woke up, but barely a second went by before she jumped out of her skin... well that’s what would have happened if she had any skin.

“Oh... WOAH- Ah Pepita!” Victoria yelled out, pushing the great alebrije beast’s nose out of her face, though it continued to lick and purr at her. She smiled happily for a moment, before her face sank.

“Did I fall asleep in here?” She seemed embarrassed, drawing her knees up near to her ribs, avoiding her grandparents gazes.

“Yes, you were very ill last night mija, I wanted to keep an eye on you.” Imelda explained herself, settling Victoria back down. A large wing swooped around to cover her, licking at her face once more.

“I think your fever has gone down quite a bit,” Imelda was already pushing her hand on Victoria’s face, she was right it had gone down significantly.

“Oh... sorry.” Her eyes are squinting, looking off into nothing, Hector wonders if it’s because she needs her glasses or she’s blinking back tears. Either way, he walks up to Imelda’s side of the bed, (because there is no way to get past Pepita on his side of the room). His hand sits on her shoulder, comforting smile on his boney lips.

“Don’t apologise niña, everything is alright as long as you’re alright. Do you still feel sick?”

Her eyes remain half opened, but the rest of her face softens, no smile or grin appeared, he didn’t need one too as he had come to understand, if Victoria were to smile it would be equivalent to a fit of happiness.

“I feel better than I did before,” her face showed no obvious emotions, “I still feel ill... how sick was I last night?”

The old couple glanced between themselves and their granddaughter. Had she really been so sick that she could not remember? Had it been that bad?

“Well if you can’t remember most of it, then I’d say you were pretty sick... almost gave us a heart attack.” Hector joked, looking down to meet her eyes. Her ribcage rattled with her every breath, setting an ominous background noise to the scene, the cool air wafting through the door also not helping to calm their nerves. She didn’t seem to find his joke very funny.

“Sorry...” she repeated, anxiety wavering in her eyes.

“Niña, niña stop. Why do you keep apologising?” Hector stressed, laying his arms over Imelda with his knees on the carpet. Grasping Victoria’s little hand tightly, he brought it up to his mouth, kissing it gently. All she did was try to sit up, leaning heavily on Pepita, inching away from the pair.

“I’m too old for this, I should leave.” Her legs pulled up beneath her, readying herself to leave. Her grandparents caught her arm. They yanked her back down into the bed, tucking her in to prevent any further escape attempts.

“You are absolutely not too old, you are ill so you are staying right here!” Imelda spoke seriously, an edge to her voice. Pulling Victoria onto her lap, she scooted over leaving more room for Hector. “Why would you say you’re too old?”

“This is what little kids do... I shouldn’t be sleeping next to you.”

Imelda gaped, jaw hanging loosely and close to falling off. Here she was denying her right to sleep next to her grandparents, like she hadn’t done it before. At least she had with Imelda. This was a first for Hector. Of course he loved her just as much as Imelda did, the way his heart and mind ached when he thought about her was enough to prove it. Perhaps at first he hadn’t loved her for the right reasons, at the start she was the closest he could get to meeting his beloved Coco, but the months flew by and soon he loved Victoria for who she was.

“Mija, it’s ok.” Imelda comforted her, finger bones running up her spine. “We need to make sure you’re safe, that’s ok isn’t it?”

Victoria inhaled, “The last time I did this I was fourteen...”

That was quite the story. Once. Once Victoria came close to beating her abuela to the land of the dead. It was a month long fight. A excruciating war between Victoria and her attacker. A dreaded illness. It came fast, and killed faster, Julio came with his child in his arms, unconscious, paler than the moon. A doctor was on the scene in minutes. This mans only advice to the family was something you _**never**_ want to hear from a doctor, it wasn’t even really medical advice. He told them to pray. Pray like they had never prayed before.  
They did damn more than pray. They put her in Imelda’s bed for multiple reasons, so that Elena wouldn’t get sick, because her room was quieter, but mostly because Imelda wanted her bebita by her side all night.

If she didn’t make it then at the very least Imelda was by her side.

But she did make it.

“Even Pepita was there.” True. Pepita was there. Only in a much different form, also much tinier than the great behemoth of a beast that currently took over much more of the bed than the three skeletons did combined.

“I guess even she worries about you.” With a long tongued lick, Pepita almost took Victoria’s skull off, leaving slobber and saliva dripping from her face. Victoria cringed, but then smiled, Pepita’s wings came around to enclose her, bringing her closer to her furry side. Then up came Pepita’s tail, finishing off what looked like a giant cocoon.

Pepita’s hug was soothing, nothing like how hugging her used to be. In the land of the living it was you who pet the cat, in the land of the dead it’s the cat who pets you.

Hector laughed, Imelda smiled and Victoria yawned, she was sleepy again, last nights events still wearing her down. Hector kissed both girls goodnight, letting them rest for a few more hours. He left without another word. They could hear him join the others at the table and the strum of his guitar as he played a little tune.

Pepita growled sombrely, enjoying being indoors for once. She was the protector of the family and went to great lengths to be near them, even if protecting them involved acting like an oversized kitten. Imelda and Victoria fell asleep under her wing, kept warm by her soft fur and safe from danger.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victoria wakes up to her tíos. Let’s see how bad this could go.

“Niña!”

Victoria was drowsy, but that distinctly nasally voice was enough to pull her through. As she looked up, she thought her eyes were playing tricks making her she double. But no. She stared up at her identical uncles, one on either side.

“Is she-,” one voice started.

“-waking up?” The other finished.

Victoria could feel parts of her strength returning, enough to sit straight up and converse with them. Pulling herself up, she reached out for her glasses but just skimmed the glass with her fingertips. Felipe grabbed them, placing them on her face for her.  
Without thinking Victoria barked, “I can put them on myself!”

Felipe jumped back, startled but smiling. “I think that means you’re feeling better.”

Oscar added, “I was beginning to miss that grumpiness.”

“It was strange not having you telling us off for being too loud.”

“Or doing something stupid.”

“Or-,”

“Enough!” Victoria screamed, reaching to massage her temples, “The pair of you are going to give me a headache!”  
She moaned, not wanting the uncomfortable buzz in her head to become a painful squeeze again. Every inch of her felt better than the previous night, her bones weren’t so unbearably warm and the odd feeling of a stomach that isn’t really there hurting had left.

“What do you two bumbling idiots want?”

“Imelda sent us-,”

“-to look after you-,”

“-until the others get back.”

A low moan escaped her, the thought of her overexcited uncles being in charge already making her frustrated. As much as she loved them, they sometimes went overboard. It was like having two younger siblings sometimes.

“So Victoria-,”

“-what do you want to do?”

She contemplated. She _was_ getting bored. The last two day she had done next to nothing, after being ushered up to her bed no one had thought to keep her entertained, last night she had been far too ill to do anything anyway... this was her first chance to actually do _something_. After sleeping for most of the day her energy was returning.

“Have you thought of something yet?”

“Hurry up!”

The twins were getting antsy, Victoria hadn’t been acting like herself lately and they were desperate to change that, they tapped and jittered impatiently.

She thought for another extended moment. As much as she wanted to get up and go right back to normal she still wasn’t completely well and the absolute last thing she wanted to do is receive a lecture from mamá Imelda or panic her father again. What could she do? Before Victoria could even think of something to do another thought struck her, she was hungry for the first time in days. Could she really trust the twins to cook for her though? One of the number one rules of the Rivera household is “never let the twins cook unless you want flambéed furniture”.

Against all of her best judgment, she declared.

“You can make my breakfast.”

The twins cringed.

“Niña... are you sure?”

“We aren’t the best cooks-,”

“-and we wouldn’t want-,”

“-to make you sick again.”

While it was true that on occasions they had given themselves and others food poisoning, how bad could a simple breakfast really go?

“You won’t, I’ll make sure you don’t poison me or yourselves.” Victoria encourage

The pair bounced off the bed, taking one of her hands in each of theirs. A happy grin flew onto her lips, their enthusiasm contagious. Hand in hand, all three bounded down the staircase, taking a moment to catch their breath. In the kitchen Victoria supervised, instructing how to do this and that, if she had a stomach, it would be growling with anticipation as for once, the twins cooking hadn’t gone to shambles.

A hot breakfast slammed down in front of her, then two other plates either side.

“Eat up niña.” Oscar said, sliding himself onto the chair next to her.

“Enjoy.” Smiled Felipe, as he did the same.

The food wasn’t half bad either, at the very least it was edible, definitely not toxic. Oscar beamed at Victoria as they ate, neither of his eyes leaving their focus on her. She was beginning to notice that they’d had a constant eye on her the whole time, one of them was always looking at her. Were they scared she was going to collapse or something? She honestly felt better now, not a hundred percent better, but still better. Victoria smiled lovingly at them, they were a pair of sweethearts.

“Does it taste alright?” Felipe asked, looping his arm around her back. Victoria glanced over to him, nodding.

“Are you sure?” Oscar added. “Do you still feel ok?”

Victoria couldn’t help but laugh at them, the pair of them half scared to death that she could get sicker from their faulty cooking. Felipe stared at her, eyes wide and jaw tensed, Oscar looked much the same on her other side. Leaning up to them, she kissed both on the cheek.

“I’m fine, I promise.”

Four arms, once strong and protective wrapped around her, they had lost their muscles and skin but still felt comforting. A pulsing feeling radiated out from beneath her ribcage.

“We know your ok Victoria.”

“You’re our strong girl remember?”

“You think I’m strong?”

The twins shared a look, faces contorting back to smiles.

“Of course!”

“And brave!”

“And smart!”

“And pretty!”

“Don’t forget witty!”  
  
Victoria’s eyes flip-flopped between her tios, their back-and-forth way of talking impressed her, facial markings glowing in embarrassment as they continued to compliment her.

Giggling like a child, Victoria replied, “Stop it, really...”

The twins smirked, eyes growing an evil glint simultaneously, Oscar reached around, his arm going underneath her legs as he yanked Victoria from her chair, spinning as he went, they walked to couch where he set her down. Victoria laughed and giggled loudly the whole way. It wasn’t hard to see through their antics, it was quite amusing to watch the pair entertain. Oscar and Felipe were born performers, they had spent many hours attempting to make others smile and laugh when they were unhappy.

Her thoughts of happiness were ripped away momentarily as air hitched in her throat, forcing a -rather violent- response. Sharp and haggard coughs tore out of her, shaking her ribcage, rattling her bones, her uncles flew to her side. Felipe landed on his knees beside her, his hands rubbing her shoulder blades, Oscar hovered behind his brother, his hands making small flapping motions.

“¡Dios mío!” Proclaimed Oscar, panic clear in his voice.

“Victoria! Victoria mija!”

“Felipe! Give her water!”

Felipe dashed from the room into the kitchen, returning with half a glass of water. He handed it to Victoria. Gulping it down, her hacking and coughing stopped.

“Ay, Victoria are you alright? Here, lay down!” Victoria cried out as Felipe forced her down on to the couch, trying to sit back up only resulted in another shove and being pinned against the cushions by Oscar’s large hands.

“Are you feverish? Does your head hurt?”

“Do you need anything? Oh lord, have we made you sicker?”

“Was it the food?”

“Let me carry you back to bed.” All at once Victoria heard a thousand voices, each one asking a different question. Her panicked tios flung their arms around wildly trying to help, probably about to cause more of a disaster than help at all.

“Please stop.” Her voice could barely have been above a whisper, it went unheard.

“Maybe we should get Imelda, or a doctor!”

“I said stop!” Victoria wailed out at the mention of a doctor, the twins freezing in place.

Sighing Victoria explained, “I know the pair of you just want to help, pero, you don’t need to worry so much. I’m ok, I promise.”

“Victoria we...”

“We’re sorry.”

The twins looked down at her in a way that almost made her feel guilty, they looked upset, concerned. All they want to do is help out, they want to make her feel better, but why did they need to be so eccentric, so over the top?

Felipe blinked and Oscar swallowed.

“Ok Victoria.”

“We understand.”

“We’ll leave you alone.”

Their voices breaking, they both look teary-eyed, as though they could burst into sobs at any moment.

“Wait,” they paused. “Don’t leave, I never told you to go.” Victoria shifts more to the middle of the couch, patting the spots either side of her.

“What would mamá Imelda say if she found out you idiotas left me all on my own?” Victoria asked, an evil sarcastic tone to her voice. As soon as she mentioned Imelda’s name the twins darted to her side, grabbing a blanket on the way.

“That’s what I thought.”

The boys laughed as they tucked the blankets around her, each settling an arm around their niece. She was right. She was always right, if Imelda found out they had left their sweet bebita all on her own she would tear them apart bone by bone.

“You won’t tell Imelda we tried to cook for you, will you? She’ll accuse us of trying to poison you.” Oscar pleaded, leaning closer to her ear.

“Please! If you recall the last time we cooked, we almost put your papá in hospital.” The memory was fresh in her mind, her poor father had mistaken the twins abominable cooking for Rosita’s and found himself dreadfully ill for weeks.

“I wouldn’t dream of telling her, she’d give me a lecture on not ever excepting food cooked by the pair of you.” It was almost a miracle she hadn’t been poisoned.

The twins appeared to melt with relief, she would really have to ask Rosita to teach them how to cook.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the twins wake up Victoria is missing. How much more down hill can it get from there?

“GEMELOS!”

“You were suppose to take care of Victoria! Not have a siesta!” Imelda’s wailing pierced through the peaceful silence, startling both Oscar and Felipe. Opening their eyes, they were met with a boot hanging over them, threatening to strike.

Imelda brandishing her boots towards them didn’t come as a shock, as their sister’s weapon of choice they had learnt long ago to move as swiftly as possible from her path once her shoes were off her feet. Oscar grabbed ahold of Felipe, pulling his body in front of himself to act as a shield, Felipe took his chance, jumping to his feet daringly darting past Imelda. His escape attempt didn’t succeed. Hector towered in the doorway blocking his path of escape.

Hector caught hold of Felipe, spinning him back around to Imelda “Ah, ah, ah! No you don’t! Sit down chamaco.”  
  
“Now! Where is Victoria?” Imelda demanded, still waving her boot intimidatingly towards the twins. “She isn’t in bed, which you **_weren’t_** supposed to let her out of in the first place.” She spoke threateningly, the possibility of being struck still loomed.

“But she was-,”

“-just here-,”

“-a moment ago.”

Their sister took a deep breath, grumbling to herself, “Why did I ever trust the two of you?” It’s said with an ounce of disappointment, gripping the bridge of her nose between her phalanges.

“You hopeless pair of buffoons.” Oscar peered over Imelda’s shoulder to catch a glimpse of Hector snorting and chuckling at their frightened faces, he stopped upon being given a warning glare via his wife.

“If she was here a moment ago then she couldn’t be far from the house, let’s search!”

“Wait-wait, we don’t need to look,” In walked Rosita, her face cheerful, grinning widely as always. She made a gesture for them to follow, “Come look in the garden.”

Imelda glanced between the others, taking in Rosita’s words as she started jamming her boot onto her foot, letting the twins breathe a sigh of relief. Her posture overly straight, their matriarch marched to follow Rosita to the garden.

The Rivera family’s garden. It was somewhat larger than most gardens, but a sight to behold, through years of Rosita’s hard work, careful planning and determination it had grown spectacularly into a magnificent display of colour and plants, tall trees surrounded the outer walls, a flower trail lined either side of the path. Even a bench had been placed under a shaded spot to make a perfect space to relax on a warm day. It was Victoria’s favourite place to sit. And it wasn’t so unusual to find her laying out their, enjoying a book.  
A not so unexpected sight. Victoria lay beautifully on the wooden bench, a square blanket strewn over her, glasses twisted on her face and book in hand. The twins let the breath they’d been holding go in relief, Julio could be heard saying “awww” in the background as he wandered out behind them.

“Vicita!” Mamá Imelda hollered across the lawn. The girl in question raised her head up as she awoke from her doze, her book slipping slowly from her lap.

“How long have you been sitting out here bebita? Come, come inside! You’ll freeze out in this weather.” Imelda ranted, walking briskly over the garden. Victoria pulled her blanket over her shoulders, picking up her book and straighten her spectacles, readying to face Imelda’s overbearing wrath. They met half way, Imelda taking the book from her immediately and marching Victoria through the door.

“Who told you it was a good idea to go sit outside on a bench for God knows how long while you still have a fever?!” Imelda scolded, squaring up to Victoria. Bravely, Victoria skirted around her to avoid the confrontation, instead walking toward the living room as she replied over her shoulder.

“Abuela I’m fine. I wasn’t outside for very long.”

Imelda sighed and followed, “If you’re sure mija... but I would still like it if you took more medicine.”

That was cause for Victoria to stop mid step and whip back around to face her grandmother, the whole family watched on nervously. If Victoria was still a child perhaps she would have fell onto her knees begging and screaming not to take anymore terrible tasting remedy. Sometimes though, on particular days, Victoria didn’t care how old she was, she will act like a child no matter what you say or do. And it just so happened that today was one of those days.  
Victoria collapsed rather harshly onto her knees making a clash as bone thumped against wood, grabbing onto Mamá Imelda along the way.

“No! Please, please, please! No! No! I won’t do it! You can’t make me!!”

“Mija, you have to...”

“No!!!”

Imelda turned to her husband and through telepathic connection gave him his instructions.

_‘Grab her.’_

_‘What if she hits me?’_

_‘Don’t be a coward Hector.’_

Taking a deep breathe he lunged forward, hoisting Victoria up into his arms, ignoring how she squirmed and squealed in rebellion. Through a long struggle Victoria was eventually pinned down to the couch by both her tios and tia with Imelda looming over her head holding a bottle of bitter liquid.

“I’m giving you a choice now bebita. Either you take the medicine now or we wait until you tire yourself out and then give it to you. It’s your choice.” Victoria slumped down in defeat. Weighing up her options, she discovered that she didn’t have any. Either way she would have to take the medicine, even Victoria couldn’t fight off both her tios and tia, even if she managed to defeat them, her papá and abuelo were standing by, ready to jump in and help if need be.

Surrendering to her family, Victoria nodded her skull, “Sí abuela, I’ll take it.”  
  
Imelda wore a smirk on her perfect painted lips while she poured the foul liquid into a spoon, Victoria cringed and turned away, disgust evident on her face. The spoon edged towards her face, Rosita and the twins still holding her down against her will as she began to struggle again. Reluctantly Victoria opened her mouth, almost gagging as the spoon slid in. Temptation to spit the medicine out came along, but Victoria held strong and swallowed.

“There. Now it’s all over.” Imelda taunted her. Oscar and Felipe released her from their hold, Rosita hauled Victoria back up to sit next to her. There she sat with a sour face, until something unexpected happened.

The family had sat down to relax and unwind for the evening, each taking a seat in the living room. Hector strummed mindlessly along, with little else to do the others tapped and hummed to the tune. Since the revelation of Hector’s real reason for disappearing and the subsequent lift on the music ban, everyone had learned to enjoy the new sounds that filled the silence.

Perhaps the new love of music was why everyone jumped in utter fright as something shrill and sharp pushed past the sweet sounds of the guitar.

Imelda rushed to her feet, clear annoyance imbedded into her face. Who would stop by this late in the evening? With a agitated sigh, opened up the door.

“Señora Rivera?” Behind the door stood an officer. An average height man with a brush-like moustache, dressed in a uniform and matching stiff expression. “Señora I’m from the department of family reunions.” From the living room the family started to pile out, each with similar emotions sewn to their faces.

They all knew one thing collectively. They knew who.

_Coco is here._

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Over the excitement Victoria could feel only one emotion. Dread.

Her family had done well to tone back their joy. Outside a few officers were waiting to escort them, apparently word had gotten out and some devoted fans had gathered to show support.

After a long discussion Imelda determined that they couldn’t leave right away, they should take their time.

“We don’t need to leave immediately, we need to take a moment to prepare ourselves. Understood?” Imelda looked to each member, one by one they nodded with barely contained enthusiasm. Lastly she looked at her husband. Hector was bouncing on the spot.

 _“Hector! Stop that! Do you understand?”_  
  
The man dulled his excitement, ending his jumping fit.

“Sí.”

“Bien. Victoria needs your help to get ready. Run along.” With a flick of her head mamá Imelda directed Hector towards Victoria, shying away in the corner. She wanted to push back, advocate that she didn’t need his help. _Why would they think that?_ She could appreciate the offer but it wasn’t needed. One glance at her abuelo however and she could see in his eyes that if he had to wait to see Coco, then he would need her as a distraction.

Gently leading her by the hand away from the others Hector took his granddaughter upstairs, placing her down on her bed while he fumbled with her dresser. Lifting up her small hairbrush, perching on a space on the bed and began dragging the bristles down Victoria’s hair.

“Spin for me amor, let papá Hector take care of those awful knots in your hair.” He’s skilful with the brush, gently picking the tangles from her hair, being mindful not to tug or yank it too hard. “Ay! How did it ever get so tangled?”

Victoria’s lips bent into a soft smile. Her grandfather’s personality was so endearing, captivating her full attention as she watched his old and yellowing bones work down her hair, perfectly distracting her troubled mind. Pulling it up, then down and through the band, it was back to normal. Her hair neatly tucked on the top of her head in an exact replica of how Victoria herself did it.

“There! Now your hair is all pretty for your mamá.” But that’s when the flood gates crashed opened. At the mere mention of her mamá all that she’d been holding back spilled forward as harsh sobs.

“Oh mi vida! What’s wrong?” Hector cooed, as he gently scooped Victoria into his lap. “Did your silly papá Hector upset you? He’s very sorry.”

Victoria shook her head. His words only made her feel more guilty, the absolute pain in her chest tightened and twisted.

“No? Alright then, did your abuelo mention someone who upsets you?” He watched for her little head to shake or nod, careful not to show any disappointment when a nod came along.

“I’m going to make a big guess and ask if it’s something to do with your mamá?”

All her bones seemed to tighten defensively. He knew. Hector knew. But why? Why did mentioning her mamá cause his sweet nieta to practically burst into tears? Coco would not have been unkind to Victoria. She was not cruel, they would never let Coco become mean to her daughter, it wasn’t in her soul to act abusive towards anyone.  
“Why mija?” Hector asked, rocking Victoria in his arms. She let out a pained wail as she tossed her head into his shoulder full force, knocking Hector down with her as she bawled.

“Aww, now mija don’t cry like that por favor, you’ll give yourself another headache. And your abuelo can’t stand to see you in pain.” Hector soothed, pulling himself and Victoria back upright, still with her legs over his knees, hands under her arms and chin resting comfortably on her hair. Tears began to wet his vest, soaking it through actually but Hector paid no mind as his granddaughter’s eyes dripped. He stroked her back. Lovingly. She needed comfort more than jokes. Reassurance more than puns.

As Victoria’s hiccuping and soft sobbing halted Hector pulled back from embracing her, whispering, “Do you want to talk about it mija? Staying silent might only make it worse.”

Victoria squirmed around on his lap until neither one or the other could see the other’s face. More silent tears flowed down her cheekbones, leaving small water tracks on her bones.

“Papá Hector ar-do... I don’t want to see my mamá.” Victoria’s voice squeaked and cracked, taking long, drawn out, shaky breaths. All too familiar agonising guilt filled up her ribcage. Guilt. It plagued her like a stubborn cough. That’s all she ever felt. Guilty. Guilty. _Guilty_.

Hector shut his lips tightly, preventing the wrong words from slipping out. How on earth could Victoria not want to see Coco? His princess, his daughter. But if he looked Victoria dead in the eyes he could see something. These tears were unlike the ones she’d cried the night before. They weren’t induced by a brain-destroying fever that played tricks on you and made you scared and upset over nothing. The tears Victoria cried now were made from genuine fear. Something was wrong. Very, very wrong.

“Victoria,” he began, “your mamá loves you. Why would you not want to see her?”

_“How do you tell someone you feel like a disappointment?”_

Deep, chaotic eyes pierced his sole, her confession smacked him hard in his heart. Victoria was not a disappointment. She was gets angry, tired, upset and scared like everyone else. She may be stoic, sometimes distant, quiet. But she was human. She had many flaws. Victoria doesn’t trust easily, has a temper shorter than her abuelita’s, and is more stubborn than a bull. She is perfect regardless. No one is a disappointment.

Grabbing hold of her chin, tenderly pulling his granddaughter’s small, overheated face close to his own.

“I don’t know why you think you’re a disappointment mija. Because everyone loves you. Your entire family loves you so, so much. Every little piece of you is precious and perfect.”

A hint of a grin plays its way onto her face before she hastily wipes it away.

“No, you’re lying. My mamá won’t think that. I’m nothing like she wanted me to be.”

Hector grins and shifts even closer.

“Would I lie to you mija? If you ask me I’m a bigger disappointment than you could ever be.”

That was enough to steal her attention.

“Please, how are you a bigger disappointment than _me_?” Her voice is full of disdain as she emphasises the last word.

“To Coco, I’m still her runaway papá that left one day and never came home. If you ask me, I’m a disappointing excuse for a father.”

Long eyelashes blink over wet eyes, “You might never have been the greatest father,” Victoria leaned in, leaving a big kiss on his cheek, “but you’re the abuelito I always wanted.”

“You’re not a disappointment mija. You’re not a disappointment to anybody.” Smiling down with his large, crooked teeth he leaned down to return the affection, nudging his nieta’s head into the crook of his neck, leaving kisses along her hair line. Underneath his chin the feeling of searing, feverish bone holds his attention tightly.

“So then,” he said, big arms swooping down to hoist her to her feet, “if you promise to come with the rest of us to see your mamá, then I’ll promise to not tell your mamá Imelda how high your fever is getting until after we come home. Claro?”

“Sí, claro.” Victoria smiles sweetly, squeezing the fingers on her right hand tightly with her left.

“Bien, now go put on a nice dress, the others will be waiting.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry that I took so long with this chapter! School has been kicking my butt recently! But anyway here’s the chapter, you’re comments are really appreciated!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whoever said that saying hello would be easy is a liar.

A _few_?!

How was this a few? A few fans and supporters they’d said, not a population twice the size of Santa Cecilia.

The Rivera’s left their home escorted by officers from the department of family reunions, when the family arrived they were greeted by a horde of skeletons. Young and old, remembered and not-so remembered alike. Shantytown’s entire inhabitants were stood in a crowd, waiting there. Hector waved, a giddy smile plastered to his face, to his shantytown familia, many waved back at him.

People brought noise however. Too much of noise. Sounds always made Victoria’s head buzz, the louder it was, the worse the outcome. And loud was the only thing around for miles.

Victoria hooked onto Hector’s arm and held tightly. She felt unbelievably _dizzy_. Sick to her very core. The world spun and turned, voices and cheering and the general hum of the city vibrated in her ears, rang down her bones making them weak and floppy. Below and beside her, her small father grinned joyfully, reaching up to clutch his daughter’s hand. Victoria slumped against him, floating between using her papá and abuelo as supports.

The crowds began closing in slightly, forcing the Rivera’s closer together and the heat rose with them. Victoria felt the fiery burning in her skull grow tenfold, ability to stand alone wavering, weakness spread to every inch. Around her, people looked increasingly worried. Rosita in particular gave her a soft, concerned glance every few seconds.

 _‘I must look awful.’_ Victoria thought. To have this many people staring at her was humiliating, sweat was dripping off her brow, knees weak and wobbly underneath her, she was barely even standing!

A sudden wave hit. Not like anything before. Whatever it was made her feel heavy and ache from the top of her hair to the sole of her shoes, sent her eyes spinning in their sockets and then... nothing. Victoria felt both nothing and everything at the same time. It was loud. And quiet. It hurt. But at the same time it didn’t. White noise rang through her ears, her vision went spotty, the realisation hit square in her face.

She was going to faint.

‘ _And in front of all these people? Why do the worst things happen to me?_ ’

The crowd of thousands was perhaps the worst part. If she fainted on her own that would have been fine, in front of just one of her family members would have been okay. But the sea of people made it so much worse. She _needed_ to get away.

“Pap– ugh... papá H... abuelo, I–I don’t... f-.” Victoria’s tiny hand grabbed onto Hector, shaking his arm weakly.

With one half-second glance Hector understood, he understood how pathetically ill she felt. He took one last look around and spoke, “Just another minute mija.”

But a minute wasn’t going to be enough time,“I nee-d... hel– m...”

That was it. Her eyes slowly hazed over black, limiting her sight. Then her body turned into a limp piece of rope as she flopped onto her grandfather full force. But just as her hearing was closing off she her the far-off voices of her grandmother and father.

“Victoria!!!”

“Catch her!”

  
.....................................

 

Opening up her eyes looked much like looking through a frosted glass pane, head feeling as if were getting squeezed in vice, the pain was only prevented by snapping her eyelids down. From the feeling of something - presumably a skeleton - taking a seat on the clinical, white bed, Victoria deduced she was not alone.

“Hector are you sure you didn’t let her head hit the ground?”

It was mamá Imelda. From the sound of her voice Victoria could tell that she had been crying.

“I’m certain, mi amor.” Papá Hector took a seat beside her, a somber tone in his voice.

Imelda took a deep, thoughtful breathe and asked, “Then why is she not waking up?”

“I don’t know Imelda, I hope it isn’t worse than we thought.” Hector replied, holding his wife against his chest.

The pair wiggled around on the bed to look down over their granddaughter, mildly concerned at her scrunched up eyes. Both sets of hands moved as one to stroke her cheek, shuffled in tandem to kiss either side of her forehead. Boiling worry settled in the couples hearts. She was in pain. Their _granddaughter_ was in _pain_. It ripped their hearts in half to see her like this.

Victoria began to feel something drip onto her hand, wet and warm. They were mamá Imelda’s tears.

“Abuelita, don’t cry.” Victoria croaked, at last opening her eyes slightly.

“Mija?” Imelda sniffed, leaping forward to hug her granddaughter, “Sweetheart, mi niñita, you’re awake.”

Ignoring the thundering pain in her ribcage and lower back, Victoria sat up, still in Imelda’s embrace. Her face glowed brightly as realisation hit. The bed she was in did not belong to her, nor her grandparents, not to her papá or tía Rosita, not even to either of her tíos. It was a bed the kept in the Department of Family Reunions. Presumably given to her as a place to recover from her ordeal. Still in her dress. One of her nicest dresses and she’d fallen unconscious while wearing it. None of it mattered once Hector started to gently push her down onto the mattress.

“Don’t move mija, por favor.” He scolded her kindly.

“Why?”

“I don’t want you to get dizzy or pass out.” It was so genuine. So much love poured out of him, so much that reminded her of her mother, with big caring eyes and hugs that made the world seem a much safer place. Her mother definitely took after him. “Do you want anything Vivi? Anything to make you feel better?”

“Pap...”

“Your papá is right here mija.” Hector scooted back for Julio to hop up in front of him, putting a supporting hand on the little man’s shoulder. Old, crooked, lopsided teeth bent into a wry smile. He gazed at his daughter with all the love and concern he had within himself, lifting her tiny hand next to his face and brushing it past his lips. Soon he was leaning down into a cautious hug, smothering Victoria in kisses and gently holding her to the bed when she tried to sit up.

“Please listen to papá Hector, your body isn’t strong enough to sit up yet. Wait a few minutes just to be sure you aren’t going to faint again, you terrified everyone, Rosita was bawling her eyes out.”

For the first time Victoria noticed Rosita hidden away in the corner, wiping away a few silent tears from her eyes. Smiling, she gave Victoria a little wave.

“How are you feeling mija? Better I hope?” She inquired while soaking up the last of her tears.

To lie, or not to lie: that is the question.

That is why she was here to begin with. She lied. To her family and to herself. Despite the way she was raised, Victoria was not always a very honest person but it was almost always for the benefit of her family. Victoria feared other’s concern, how was she supposed to tell somebody that her back ached as though she were being stepped on by a particularly hefty man; that her brain bounced and banged back and forth inside her skull; that her bones cooked under her own raised heat? How could she watch someone she loves face drop when she mentions that the pain she’s in is close to bringing her to tears?

“I feel alright...” she lied. She gritted her teeth and lied again, “I’m feeling a lot better.”

Oh why lie when you’re bound to be discovered?

Right then, a pain worse than anything else she ever felt, climbed its way up Victoria’s back. There was only one possible way to describe it, it felt like the devil himself was dragging his ragged claws along her spine, as if he wanted to break every bone in her back. All she could do was cry out, reach for her father, let the tears fall from her honey brown eyes.

Imelda whispered, “No no mija, sweetheart don’t cry. Are you in pain? Ay, of course you are, this is all your _estúpido_ abuela’s fault.” The young girl nodded along, still clinging desperately to her papá, holding onto him with all her might. She didn’t once let go of him, not even when she felt his hand move around to rub her back. It barely even helped. It just about numbed the _stabbing_ pain.

From somewhere (she couldn’t quite determine the direction), Imelda cooed, “Go back to sleep mija,”

“We’re going to be in the room next door, we have to go see Coco now.” Hector added, leaning over to make sure she heard. “I asked tía Chelo to sit with you while we talk to your mamá, is that alright? You like her don’t you?” Victoria nodded while ignoring the push of tears in her eyes. “We’ll be just next door if you need us. You’re a good niña Victoria. Te amo mucho.”

With nothing worth being awake for, it wasn’t a challenge to fall to the darkened clutches of sleep. No one every said her rest would be very peaceful.

........................

 

“You can go in señora, I can’t guarantee she’ll be awake.” The guard sighed, “I guess that won’t matter to you, and just a reminder that your family and I will be outside if you need anything.”

“Gracias.” Thanked a small, elderly voice. So familiar. But at the same time it wasn’t at all familiar, the voice of someone she hadn’t heard in many years.

Victoria snapped her eyes open as the door to the room shut with a bang. Her heart and head pounded simultaneously, a sudden need to breath sharp, ragged breathes keeps her alert and terrified.

“Mamá?

“Victoria.”


	10. Say Hello

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sometimes it is harder to say hello to someone than it is to say goodbye.”

“Mamá?”

“Victoria.”

She was _speechless_. What on earth could she say? What do you say to your daughter who you haven’t seen in what? Forty years? Little could make up for the hurt and the longing and the missing years.

“Mija,” Coco let out breathlessly, stepping fully into room. Florescent light glowed down, cascading over Victoria, her eldest daughter, the one she missed, it lit her face up making the details defined and stunning. It made her so beautiful, but it made it clear that Victoria was sick.

“You’re papá told me you aren’t feeling so good.” As her daughter’s eyes welled with tears she felt her own heart _aching_. Aching so badly. Yet at the same time nothing hurt at all.

Reaching out for her, to hug and hold _her_ Victoria felt like she was reaching for a long lost piece of her life. Then Coco’s heart was ripped away once more. As her arms came to close around her child, pull her into a gigantic hug, Victoria flinched and scooted further back on the bed. She tried again. Received the same response. Instead, she placed her hand on Victoria’s cheek, still she flinched, but settled down moments after.

“Are you okay honey?” She murmured just loud enough for Victoria to hear, and at the shake of her precious daughter’s head her entire body felt heavy, distraught. As softly as she could, Coco helped Victoria to sit, allowing her child’s head to rest on her shoulder.

“Please tell me what’s wrong mija, mamá wants to make you feel better.” She longed, she longed so hard to make Victoria comfortable, to make her feel safe away from her pain.

Victoria nuzzled her head deep into Coco’s shoulder letting her lay kisses over the back of her skull. “It aches _everywhere_ mamá.” She whined so shrilly and shakily that it hurt. Peeking her eyes out revealed tear-filled eyes, “Nothing feels ok!”

“Rest your head in mamá’s lap.” Coco soothed and Victoria reluctantly did as she was told, she placed her head on top of her mamá and allowed her hair to be stroked, allowed the thin blanket to be tucked tighter over her frail body. At the temperature of the room it was fairly simple to say that Victoria was not actually cold, but in fact quite warm to the touch. They would need a thermometer to now how warm exactly. _‘Perhaps,’_ Coco thought, _‘I could ask a guard for a thermometer.’_

Victoria allowed their fingers to become entwined, with half-lidded eyes and a dopey smile on her face. Sadly the smile didn’t last long, her mouth folded into the same solemn frown it had always worn with an un-ignorable glisten of tears in her eyes.

“Mamá, I’m ruining it. I’m ruining what you always wanted. Go with your papá. I’ll manage just fine on my own.” Victoria begged in a pleading voice, asking for her mother to abandon taking care of her, the little whine in her voice throwing Coco off completely.

“Victoria, honey, let me stay.” She cooed softly, grabbing Victoria tightly to her chest not letting go even for a second.

“I know, I know you feel like you ruined today, I promise that you haven’t. If you think I would ever leave you alone while you’re sick and weak then I must be a bad mother because I never told you how much I love you, how you matter more than anyone else to me. Seeing you means so much to me.”

It seemed to be enough to settle her –for now– it calmed the onslaught of water that just poured and poured from her eyes to no end. Having Victoria sedated made inspecting her new form much simpler, Coco ran her hand firmly along her daughter’s arm. It was so... so unusual. Her little girl was made of bone – and so was she for that matter! Everyone was. She’d never seen her child without skin before of course. The very idea of it was foreign. Yet, even without skin Victoria still managed to be perfect and stunning, and have a soft, loving face. Although most of the time hidden by her stoic attitude. She continued to run her hand along Victoria’s perfect little arm while looking into her perfect little eyes, until Coco felt something not so perfect.

Her finger snagged on a dent; a ragged, uneven part of bone; a crack on her daughter’s left ulna. Long but not deep. About the same length as her finger.

“How did you get this crack mija?” She asked, watching her daughter lift her head up to meet her eyes and wondered if she just asked a question she shouldn’t have. Victoria stared at it with a frown.

“I fell and smashed my arm on a chair.” She winced, holding her opposite hand over the crack. “That must have been ten years ago now,” and suddenly her frown turned into a half-smile, “Felipe and Oscar left an invention of theirs on the kitchen floor.” She started to let go and grin. “I caught my foot in it, fell over and smacked my arm on a chair. It hurt worse than _anything_.” A giggle escaped her as she looked directly at her mother. “I sat on the floor and cried until Mamá Imelda came running. She beat Oscar and Felipe for an hour with her boots.”

Victoria bust out laughing. Joyful and loud; a sound Coco barely ever heard, but wanted to hear more than anything; more than any other noise that could ever exist.

“We tried to put bone-filler in it, but that stuff is useless and fell out after a week.” Coco smiled to her daughter’s story, but the pure energy it took for Victoria to sit up and tell the story had left her once again fighting to stay awake.

“Shhh, you’re exhausted mija.” She murmured. “ _Sleep_.”

Coco tapped Victoria’s forehead, hushing her. Time took over, taking Victoria into a deep, restful sleep.

—————————————

So much time went by while she slept, so much that when her eyes at last opened her abuelo held her on his lap inside the trolley taking them home. Most people glanced over but payed hardly any thought to her if only for the sake of being polite, those who did stare’s view was quickly blocked out by a crowd of Rivera’s carefully spread out to shield Victoria. The time she was awake didn’t last long. When exhaustion quickly took over again it had her pinned down and mostly out for the rest of the night.

Upon the return to the family home everyone hurried themselves to their respective rooms for the night. Victoria got passed off to Rosita for the short while it took the rest to ready themselves for sleep, she helped to brush her nieces hair out, gave her nightgown to her to change into, then passed her around to Julio and Coco once more. It was sweet to have their family unit almost completed, one more puzzle piece. That’s all they needed.

Coco thought it was funny how even though Julio barely came to his daughters waist, Victoria was determined that she could fit in his arms. With her legs hung over his knees and her back hunched so far down that it looked plain uncomfortable. But Victoria had been doing this since she was a teenager, having outgrew her papá a long time ago. This was comfortable to them. As much as it looked like Victoria’s vertebrae were ready to pop out of place and Julio looked squished underneath his daughter’s weight.

“Amor?” Coco peeped as she snuck silently into the room, “I never understood how you pair could be comfortable sitting like that.”

Julio mumbled out from underneath his daughter, “It’s not so bad, she’s actually asleep.” He snickered to himself with his child’s sleeping head buried into his shoulder. “I do have to say it’s probably more comfortable for her than me, though I don’t mined.”

Coco walked over to her family, taking the throw from the end of the bed with her. Using her hand to steadily pull Victoria off of Julio to where she lay between them on the bed, wrapping her tightly in covers and the spare throw. It had been quite a while since Coco could hug both her eldest daughter and husband, even longer since she could hug both simultaneously. She’d missed it with all her heart. The small moments she and Julio took to themselves everyday and conversed with each other, perhaps while sipping coffee, or the longest nights spent indulging in books and films, bonding with her daughter.

“She isn’t so small anymore, that’s the one thing I miss most.” Julio sighed from beside her.

Coco giggled as sudden memories returned to her, clearer than ever, “You miss being able to throw her high up, catch her and make her laugh?” Victoria turned over in the middle of the bed, facing her papá, both of her parents traced their fingers through her hair.

“That would be rather tricky now.” Remarked Julio. The pair almost ripped up in laughter yet remembered the sleep _princesa_ at their sides. Coco looked down the bed until she found the lump that signified Victoria’s feet and marvelled at how tall she must be, a trait that she’d easily forgotten during the years her mind had been broken, why Victoria must be twice the height of her! It made her so happy to think that her hija took after her abuelo. Thinking of it made a throbbing regret that couldn’t be calmed blaze in her mind. It just hurt so badly that they couldn’t share anytime alive together. He could never hum a lullaby to his granddaughters like he’d done for her so many decades ago. Coco technically wasn’t even allowed to sing lullabies to her children back then (though Imelda never could stop what went on behind a closed door).

It was growing extremely late. Too late for an old lady like herself, (in reality she felt the best she had in decades, like time had magical been healed). The house was dead to the world having gone entirely silent, sleeping the night away, a snoring Pepita the only sound polluting the air.

Tonight was special. Wonderful and special. The Rivera family grew one piece closer to being whole again. With many more pieces left to go.

Together. Huddled together with her husband and daughter in the same house; in the same room; in the same embrace. Everyone they needed was with them again.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
